


Black Eyes

by outofordxr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon Dean, Demons, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, I Don't Even Know, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofordxr/pseuds/outofordxr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a while ever since the Winchesters played hide and seek in the bunker, that is while Dean was wielding a hammer. It seems that a lot of things have not changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delly_Belly4283](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delly_Belly4283/gifts).



> Please excuse my trash Fanfiction writing.

Black eyes. A greyscale film over black over green. Dean’s snapped open only moments later, and he knew why. He was a better actor than he was credited for. After that whole scene where he tromped around the bunker wielding a hammer, and Sam huddled in corners trying to stay safe from his now raging demonic brother, Dean decided that he should just lay low. The Mark was still searing his flesh and he had a feeling that as long as it was there, he was going to be an ink eyed bastard.  
Sammy was out doing research at the library. Castiel was out doing god knows what. Most likely brooding about the grace he had to thieve from big bad feather heads. Dean was in the bunker. Throwing his legs over the side of his bed, he trudged to the kitchen area for a beer. On the counter was a plate. On the plate, a slice of pie. Beside the pie was a hastily scribbled note on the back of an aged and withered paper.  
“Dean, I picked up a slice of pie last night. Enjoy, Castiel.” Dean muttered, reading the sharp angular calligraphy. He chuckled and threw the yellowed thought aside, lifting the plastic saran wrap off the flakey dessert. The salt sprinkled on top of the caramel apple goodness stung the elder Winchester’s nose and he growled, “Cas, you son of a bitch.”  
“Dean.” A gruff voice echoed behind him. The demon turned and raised his brows in mock surprise.  
“Cas, eh, afternoon.” He smirked. He had a hand on the counter, nails bent as he clenched the metal surface. This damn ex-angel doesn’t trust him, does he? Inside Dean’s chest was a tug of hurt, casing Dean to cringe internally. He glances at the slice of sugar behind him. “Thanks for the pie.”  
“Yes. Have you tasted it, yet?” Castiel cocked his head to the side. Dean gulped. Those blue eyes were just boaring into him.  
“I’m saving it for later…” He said, worthless guilt cutting into his voice. Clearing his throat, Dean tapped a finger on the counter before starting towards the ex-angel. He pushed past before a hand wrapped around his wrist. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean turned and stared at Castiel expectantly. Dean licked his lips, sighed and shook his head, looking around, “Cas, why don’t you trust me?”  
Castiel looked taken aback by the question. He had that confused stare like usual, but something swam behind the blue of his eyes. They stared into each other’s eyes before Castiel finally said, “I can’t risk anything. You still have the Mark, Dean. You haven’t left the bunker since we cured you. The only conclusion I can draw is that you are hiding something.”  
“A guy can’t rest after almost killing his brother?” Dean snapped. Realizing the sharpness of his tone, he ran a hand through his hair, glancing at Castiel’s own unkempt ‘do. Furrowed brows worried the other man’s forehead. Dean exhaled harshly, “If Sammy had gotten hurt, I—I don’t know man… Listen, Cas. I need rest after that cat fight.”  
“I suppose.” Cas nodded, curtly. He opened his mouth again before thinking better of it and keeping his peace. Dean felt his insides twist with concern.

ͽͼ

Dean stood at an entrance, knife in hand. His eyes cast downwards at one of the Devil’s Traps that Sam and Castiel planted at all exits since Dean’s demonic meltdown. Dean’s thumb ghosted over the wood of the boring silver dagger. He sighed and kneeled, chipping the paint from the ground until he finally figured he could step through without getting caught in an invisible last step of Mouse Trap.  
Tentatively, he put one foot in. Then the other. A successful grin crossed his face and he reached for the door. The hard shock of defeat smacked his hand away and the smile dropped. Dean growled, “What the hell—“  
“Cristo.” The harsh, gravelly voice of a certain angel said from behind him. Dean snapped his head up to see a trap on the ceiling, greyed by the ink that had been dropped into his eyes by the single word spoken. He turned and met Castiel’s eyes. Together it was the color of a brewing storm.  
“Cas!” Dean yelled, enraged by the trick. A look of hurt crossed Castiel’s face before he scowled and shook his head. He honestly looked disappointed. Dean chuckled and strode to the edge of the trap. He didn’t bother returning his eyes to the mossy green they were, “Who ruffled your feathers?”  
“Dean. We can fix this. We will find a cure that works this time—“  
“I don’t want to be cured, Cas.” Dean growled. He threw his head back with a deep guttural laugh that fled from him and hit the walls with full force. “Don’t you think if I wanted to be human again, I would just ask, and we would all walk out of this as one big family again? I’m not ‘broken’, Castiel, so there is nothing to fix.”  
Cas swallowed thickly. Dean didn’t use his full name much anymore. He turned and took deep breaths, while the laughter died out. Turning back to Dean, he narrowed his eyes, “I- I just want to help, Dean. I…”  
He stops and Dean raises his eyebrows expectantly, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkling into rays. Throwing his hands out, he taunts, “What? You just want me back? Come on, Cas. You know as well as I do that it won’t happen if you just ask politely and hope that your good-boy mojo will suck the smoke outta me.”  
“I know…” The ex-angel said in desperation.  
“Then,” Dean spat, “why do you even try?”  
“Because, it isn’t my battle to fight, Dean. I know that my friend is in there somewhere, and I am just trying to get to him.” Castiel’s fingers twitched as he looked down.  
“How about you just let it go, and let me out?” The demon said. His arm throbs with a fire he has never felt before. It was the Mark, screaming for violence. He repeated himself, only it was a command, “Let me out, Castiel!”  
“I can’t do that, Dean.” The blue eyed being looked back up to him. Raising a hand, Cas’ eyes glowed a shock blue. Grace boiled inside his body, and the atmosphere changed most instantly. Crackling, blue chills encased the two.   
Screaming.  
Dean was on his knees, howling in agony. He clutched the sides of his head, keeling over and gagging, smoke slithering past his teeth in a desperate effort to stay within its vessel. Cas turned his hand, a critical attempt at getting that thing out of his friend. Dean looked up, eyes tar and cold rage, laughing in Castiel’s face.  
“You can’t do it, Mister ‘Angel of the Lord’!” The demon roared, his eyes flickering between the color of spring leaves and rotting flesh. Finally, Dean fell backwards, body hitting the ground with a thick thud.


	2. Chapter 2

“Cas…” Whispers filled the dungeon. Moans of anguish rose into the musty air. Dean was strapped to the mattress in the middle of the room. Every hour or so, he would start bellowing and tugging at the handcuffs. Actually, it had been days. Sam got back and helped Castiel lock Dean away. The demon was not happy about being isolated. (Who would be?) Dean kept calling for the angel. Each time, his voice was filled with desperation. Castiel would hear each and every time, and his chest would constrict with heartache. It took all the fixity he had to keep from opening the thick metal door and ripping the cuffs off of the man. Hearing Dean’s lamentation hurt the blue eyed man. He longed for the tar like illness to leave Dean’s body.  
“Cas!” A scream echoed from the dungeon and the angel flinched.

ͽͼ

_Breathless cries. Dean couldn’t find his end and Cas’ beginning. The two were unraveling. The Winchester had taut fingers wrapped in the raven hair brushing his stomach, while the angel mouthed around twitching thighs. The two were murmuring to each other, to fill the silence of each other’s bodies on one another._   
_“Cas—Ah, fuck…” Dean keened. A hard grip planted a leg to the bed while the other hand was wrapped around his neck, keeping his head thrown back. The green eyed man groaned again, arching his back. Castiel smiled and brought his face back up to meet his partner’s._

ͽͼ  
Light flooded Dean’s sight. He looked around frantically. A demon clad in black stood beside the bed, smirking deviously. Dean furrowed his brows, licking his lips. Crowley chuckled and looked down.  
“So, Dean,” He shifted his weight, and clasped his hands in front of himself, “I’ve been getting noise complaints from Bullwinkle and Clarence.”  
“Well, isn’t that a dilemma…for them.” Dean smiles, as Crowley circles the bed. “What about it? You gonna do something about it, Dad?”  
“Oh, drop the act.” Crowley spat. He leaned over to stare Dean in the eyes. “You may have the eyes of a demon, Dean Winchester, but you’re still feeling. I can tell. You are acting like you’re the new Mayor of Hell, and it honestly pisses me off. I can tell that emotions have not completely fled from that hallow skull of yours.”  
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Dean grinned, trying to not only make Crowley believe him but also, to convince himself. It didn’t work.  
“Really? So if I asked you to end you’re brother’s life, would you do it?” The much older man, raised his brows. He gnashed his teeth and wrapped a hand through the hair at the base of the Winchester’s neck, and yanked hard. “Lose the act, Rapunzel. You know what the hell I’m blood blabbing about, because you already noticed.”  
“Well, I’ll be damned, you’ve been on this rodeo too, huh?” Dean grinned, cringing as his hair was torn out just a little more.  
“Here’s the deal, Princess.” Crowley clears his throat, letting go, “I’m going to let you go, and you’ve got one last chance to prove to me that we can work together. Otherwise, Cas is going to exorcise you back to the numbskull I know best. Got it?”

ͽͼ

“Alright, so you’re going to let me go, and expect me to pay attention to your little olive branch?” Dean smirked from the chair that he was bound to. Sam Winchester shifted in discomfort in front of his brother, clenching his jaw, and pursing his lips while he swallowed down the concern and pain clawing its way up from his core.  
“I’m _expecting_ you to behave. You still have the mark, so I know you aren’t going to be domesticated, but don’t…kill anybody who isn’t in trouble with us.” He says in that soothing tone. The one that makes him sound like he’s calming an animal. Dean used to pay no mind to it but now the sound pisses him off. His arm throbs, obviously thirsty for bloodshed.  
Dean doesn’t even flinch, just breathes out a harsh breath, trying to take the edge off of the red filling his thoughts. It barely helps, so he just ignored the urge, for now. Finally, he breaks the acoustic silence, “Fine. But, if you so much as keep me cooped up in here, I’m going to go ballistic.”  
“Okay.”  
Sam shifted his weight, before final making a move toward his bound brother, and taking out a pocket knife, flicking the sharpest blade out. After the ropes are severed, Sam hesitantly breaks the trap. Dean gives him a look and starts toward him, swirling around him at the last moment. This sent a chill down Sammy’s spine. He couldn’t tell if this was Dean anymore.

ͽͼ

“Aw, c’mon Sammy, don’t you think that this is all a little hypocritical?” The blonde archangel chuckled. He circled the uneasy Winchester. “You, trying to cure you’re brother, even though you are battling your own demons too—Erm… Arcangel… So _valiant_ , Sam Winchester. The man who didn’t give a _fuck_ about anything but his dying brother.”  
“He isn’t dying, Dean is a demon now—I just need—He needs to learn not to kill.” Sam furrowed his brows in frustration.  
“Sure…sure. Keep telling yourself that.” Lucifer laughed coldly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Destiel ahead and all that good shit.
> 
> Sorry to those of you who wanted to keep your feelings in tact. And sorry Sam-Lovers.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. Not really. I'm Satan.

“Cas.” Dean cleared his throat. He steeled himself and stared at the back of the angel in front of him. He swallowed as the other man tensed, and turned very slowly. His eyes were glassy with concern and he was hunched slightly. Dean inhaled sharply, seeing the worry painted so brightly, “Cas?”  
“Dean, I’m so scared.” Castiel’s voice broke, his eyes framed by a deep darkness. He took a single drunken step toward the demon, holding back. Dean held his arms out, but Cas rushed at him and the two men were in a death grip of a hug. They slid to the ground.  
“Cas, buddy, it’s okay.” Dean rasped, rubbing circles into Castiel’s back. The sobs that wracked the angel reverberated into the Winchester. Dean was torn, hearing his best friend in this much pain. He tried to sooth him, choking out words that burned his trachea.  
“It’s okay. Everything—Maybe not _everything_ … But, it’s gonna get better. Cas—“  
“ _Shut up_.” Castiel growled, his body still except for the tears still fleeing his eyes, “Shut up, Dean. I don’t want to hear it. It’s not okay. _Nothing_ is okay, you moron!”  
Dean’s eyes widened, Cas pulling away and glaring p at him. His lip trembled, “I have nothing left, Dean Winchester. I’ve been trying, _trying so damned hard_. All for you. But now you are gone.”  
“But… Sam—“  
“I only ever had you.” Castiel wailed, with pleading eyes. Dean’s eyes flicked between the oceans reflecting the gesture. “Please excuse me for being so curt.”  
And then there were lips on Dean’s. Chapped, warm lips that captured his. It sent a bolt of lightning down his spine. Everything stopped for the moment. Everything was forgotten. The Mark. Dean’s current situation; being a demon. Castiel’s depleting grace. A surge of white hot pain crawled p Dean’s arm, and he sucked in a breath. The lips were gone as soon as the icy burn of oxygen hit his lungs. He felt alive. Before the—dare he say it—kiss, Dean had felt a negative feeling. Like he wanted to be reckless. Now that he felt the warmth of Cas on his lips, he wanted to live. He wanted to do everything to save Cas, to save himself, and to stay that way.  
The Mark bit his arm, but he was busy with thoughts of kissing the angel again. He glanced down at Castiel’s lips. Dean’s tongue darted out, hungrily. The pain shot into his arm and he hissed.  
_He is nothing._  
Dean’s eyes flashed to the obsidian color. He stared at Cas’ hardened face.  
_He doesn’t give a shit. You shouldn’t either._  
He cocked his head, with a sinister smile. Stepping close, he leaned in for a kiss. Castiel stared at his lips, eyes half lidded. Dean stopped, breathing on the parted lips before him. He murmured darkly, “you are nothing. Just an angel pushed from heaven by the man he _thinks_ he loves.”  
And he stalked off, the Mark singing praise to him. The pain subdued, pressing itself to the pride he felt. He could hear knees hitting floor behind him and the broken, soft sobs of the lost fallen angel.

ͽͼ

Castiel was panting hard. He entered his own bedroom and slammed the door. Fingers pressed to his temples and he cringed, the taste of Hell burning at his lips. He hated himself. He hated Dean. The thing that Dean had become. Dragging his callused hands through his dark hair, Cas paced. Everything was so confusing for him. It felt like he had been ripped apart by a lion.  
Why did he find Dean so hot? That scene was so sexy and raw…and painful to the angel. Castiel heated p, he stared in his mirror, seeing nothing but a broken man. He needed to leave. He was so tired. This was wrong. So wrong. No, it was unjustifiable.  
“Abominable.” He spat at his hands. Castiel felt another strong well of emotions, and hit the wall with his back, sniffling.

ͽͼ

 _So if I asked you to end you’re brother’s life, would you do it?_  
Dean growled, pacing his room. His mind was contorted in to a battleground. One army was trying to do everything it could not to give into the dark. Another, was trying to find balance. The other… The other army was the dark.  
_Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak weak weakweakweakweakweak!_  
“Fuck off!” Dean screamed, throwing a lamp.  
_This…this is what you’re gonna become!!_  
The blood was rushing to his arm. It was getting to be unbearable. It was like having the blood cut off from your head. But it rushed all the way to the mark. He wished he could just cut the fucking thing off. It was searing in to his bone.  
_…end your brother’s life…_  
All he could think of was how Sam Winchester’s blood would feel raging and pulsing around his blade. The ecstasy of seeing the light leave his eyes. The ragged breaths from having the First Blade dipped into his body. Dean paused, staring into the mirror. He needed it. Taking a knife from his drawer, he made his way to his brother’s room. Dean was a hunter, and it was open season for him.


End file.
